


No One Else

by RedundantHarpoons



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But a Pretty High Porn:Plot Ratio, Dom/sub, F/F, PWP, Past Relationship(s), Some Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-03-31 13:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13976004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedundantHarpoons/pseuds/RedundantHarpoons
Summary: Angela vowed to never speak to Moira, see her, work with her ever again. But when the heartache grows too strong, when the opportunity presents itself, she cannot stay away. She keeps on coming back, and she hates them both for it.  (AU where Blackwatch wasn't formed until after the recall, a few other small timeline discrepancies. Please see notes for what is to come.)





	1. In the Shadows of Overwatch

**Author's Note:**

> I had intended to write PWP but have fallen in love with the bit of plot I've come up with. I will not be tagging individual kinks/fetishes that may appear, so I will give these blanket statements: 
> 
> * Everything in this fic is consensual.  
> * There will be infidelity.  
> * Degradation will be commonplace, sadomasochism will appear. Watersports/scat will not.

Angela’s heart was in her stomach and it felt like ice ran through her veins as she stared at the personnel file. She had questions, so many questions, but no one she could ask. She wasn’t even supposed to be seeing this file, she was certain, so who could she demand the answers from? Outside her window-lined lab at the new headquarters for recalled Overwatch members the sky was clear and the sun was bright, but darkness seemed to close in all around Angela.

As former agents were recalled and new members recruited, medical intake was performed on each individual, and a file created (or updated, in the case of returning members) which listed everything known about them with an emphasis on their medical history. She had returned to oversee all medical operations at the reborn Overwatch, and so this was under her purview. She didn’t do the intakes herself, granted, unless there were a returning member she really wished to catch up with. No, she let her new medics and corpsmen handle it, and simply picked files at random to check for any glaring errors, which she preferred to call _teachable moments_.

It had confused her when one file was not in its usual CallSign_LastName_FirstName named order, and in fact seemed to be some sort of gibberish. Artifacts, not even letters, just scrambled dots. Perhaps they needed to revisit data entry with all new recruits. But when she opened it her breath caught, and here she sat what seemed like eons later, staring at the not-at-all-gibberish medical intake file.

She didn’t even need to read that the name on the file was O’Deorian, Moira or that her nationality was Irish or that her specialty was genetics. She didn’t even need to look at the short, perfectly slicked back red hair or the slightest hint of freckles. She saw enough in the pair of mismatched eyes that stared wryly back from an intake photo unmistakably taken against the standard Overwatch intake backdrop.

But _why?!_ Why was she here? Why was she not on Angela’s radar as an incoming new recruit? Certainly the _Overseer of Medical Operations_ was entitled to be notified if a doctor was being brought in, and certainly _this_ doctor. She quickly scrambled into a nearby drawer and leafed through all incoming patient files to find where she’d missed this humongous, glowing, waving red flag, but there was none. She was never scheduled for intake in this lab. It didn’t make any sense.

And why would _she_ be here anyway? Overwatch was about helping people, protecting the population. Overwatch was for _heroes._ Angela’s eye twitched a bit in irritation. Perhaps a joke? But who? No, no one knew about Moira here . . . no one would know how much this would unnerve her, to say the least.

And why, it suddenly occurred to Angela to ask again, was the file name so disjointed? She turned her attention back to the medical file and deliberately avoided looking at the languid stare Moira sent back from the screen as she scrolled quickly down to push the photograph off the screen, her eyes instead darting around quickly to pull whatever information she could from the file.

Medical intake date? She double-checked her calendar. That was last week. _A whole week._ No, no, maybe she left. Posting? Overwatch headquarters. _She was still here?_ Angela threw a nervous glance over her shoulder, suddenly fearing that the woman in question might be reading over her shoulder this very moment, but she remained alone in her lab. She turned back to the screen. Assignment? Blackwatch? What the hell was Blackwatch? And why did _Moira_ , who was recruited _last week,_ have a higher security clearance than Angela? Angela no longer felt so cold, in fact she began to feel heat rising in her chest, and she quickly made a backup of the file. She would say something, that’s it. No one likes a tattle tale, but no one could blame her for not wanting someone with Moira’s . . . _ethical shortcomings_ working for such an upstanding organization as Overwatch. Then she faltered. Where was she to go? Who was she to complain to? There was no mistaking the text at the bottom of this file, it was absolutely classified by order of this Blackwatch, and considering Angela had no idea what that referred to she had to imagine her fairly wide-ranging security clearance did not qualify her to be looking at what she currently read. There was no information about direct command, division, or where within headquarters Moira would be stationed, if in fact she was here at all.

Angela pushed herself up suddenly, finding her legs a bit shakier than she expected as the chair rolled across the tile behind her. She looked to the windows, out across the vast expansive complex. She had not toured the new facility; between the time to set up her lab and train new medics she had been far too busy to see anything outside of her workspace in the three months since she had been recalled, one of the first. She squinted against the sunlight and scanned all of the windows which reflected her own building’s image back at her. Was _she_ behind one of them?

She started a bit as the power flickered with a crackle. The back-up generators immediately switched on and most instruments had been kept solidly powered on by their backup batteries, but the main power had definitely shorted out. She frowned and looked back at her computer, which had quickly rebooted itself. As she logged in once more she returned to the medical intake files she saw no gibberish, and no Moira. The file was missing, her access revoked. Whatever error had led to it being on the general medical database had been fixed.

Angela smirked at her very minor victory, but a swirling vortex of uneasiness built in her core as she opened her most recently saved file and was met with her screenshot of Moira’s mismatched eyes staring back at her, along with all of her information.  


* * *

The flat had little in way of decoration, what little there was had mostly been leftovers from the previous tenant who apparently felt their plastic potted plants need not follow them to whatever new place they’d found. Moira had hung a few framed photographs she had brought with her from place to place, but most would still call her home barren, and many would hesitate to call it a home at all.

She had not had an easy time of it, but then again, true, meaningful progress is rarely easy. It takes hard work, time, and sacrifice. And Moira had given all this and more. The knowledge she was right and that those who scoffed at her work, whispered behind her back, called her a lunatic were the ones in the wrong was what sustained her. She was right, she just needed the opportunity. Like all scientists with a hypothesis, she needed funding.

When a man named Gabriel Reyes contacted her with some simplistic, but all the same intriguing, questions about genetics only asked by minds not already shackled by conventional thought and useless inhibition he had her curiosity. When he said he could secure funding, he had her interest. And when he promised that she would be able to carry out the research she desired without the oversight of a pesky IRB, well, he had her signature on his dotted line.

Blackwatch. That is what she had been recruited to. She had heard of Overwatch, of course, everyone had. Starry-eyed idealists out to save the world. Yes, they’d made some great advancements for science, she had to admit, but they too thought too small, too cautiously. Heroes who always do the right thing. The thought always made Moira’s lips twitch a bit in a sardonic grin. _Of course that appealed to_ her, _of course she signed on._

But now look, here she was, signed on as well. But not to be a shining beacon of hope in this dreary world, a hero of the people. No, as Reyes had explained to her she would be a member of a small covert operations team called Blackwatch, and the team’s existence would be kept secret even from Overwatch itself. To allow them to do what needed to be done, Reyes had explained. He needn’t have, Moira already understood and appreciated it. They couldn’t fund the building of a separate headquarters, that sort of money moving around, that sort of construction, word would get out. But the new Overwatch headquarters was still in the planning stages when Reyes decided to form Blackwatch, he’d made _alterations_ to the plans that very few knew made it into the final product, a series of sub basements. Labs, server rooms, weapons testing ranges, all hidden away underneath Overwatch’s nose. Someone knew about them, of course. Reyes couldn’t have done this all on his own. He indicated he was partnered with another of the higher-ups in Overwatch proper, though Moira was not allowed to know who. But as such they would use some of the same systems, though all of their files would be encrypted. Apparently that had been a problem, in the first few weeks there were small data leaks but nothing that seemed to be noticed by the heroes up above. Reyes brought on a Mexican girl good with computers after that, and there were no more leaks that she had heard about, and the two months since her arrival had gone smoothly.

She worked most days and nights in her laboratory in the underbelly of Overwatch, then used their private tunnels to move to her flat when she absolutely could not work another minute. Her row house was suitable, as she only needed a place to sleep every so often. It was cheap, less than an hour from work, and didn’t ask for proof of employment, though she imagined she could have had some cooked up if she needed. She’d furnished it sparsely and decorated it with even less enthusiasm. She had a bed and chair upstairs, and the den downstairs had been converted into a makeshift laboratory. She couldn’t do much of anything useful here, the equipment she needed would have filled the entire block of row houses. But she could work on small side projects as she wished if she found she could not sleep, which was most of the time she returned to her home.

She sat hunched low over a manuscript she knew would never get published, and scowled down at it as she absentmindedly reached for her glass, only to find it empty. She set it back down, and the hollow thunk against the table was loud in the silent room, almost covering the knock that came at the exact moment. Almost, but not quite. Moira straightened up in her chair and blinked toward the front hall. A visitor? No one knew she lived here, and her rent was fully paid. Certainly it was not the “friendly” neighbors, they learned fairly quickly that Moira did not appreciate friendly visits. She stood with hesitation as another knock came at the door, this one louder but faster, as though the knocker was about to leave. Moira considered this. If they left, she could get back to work. Yes, best to let them leave.

But a scientist’s mind is a curious mind, and as she opened the door she saw hers was not the only one with questions as Angela Ziegler stared daggers up at her from the stoop.

* * *

Was she taken aback? Angela wasn’t sure. She thought she saw a flash of _panic_ in Moira’s eyes, but if it was there it was gone so quick she could not be sure. No, Moira did not look panicked, she looked cool and collected, as she always had. Always.

Several moments passed without a word between the two women, and neither seemed to worry that it was raining a light drizzle and that while Moira stood dry and pristine, Angela was beginning to look quite soaked. And miserable. But Angela had looked and felt miserable for quite some time now, and she had finally decided this was the only way to cure her misery. If she couldn’t be angry about Moira she would be angry _at_ Moira.

“Why are you here?” Angela barked with a hoarseness that surprised her, but she didn’t regret it. It carried her disgust well.

The corner of Moira’s lips twitched upward into the hint of a smile at her voice, her angry question, and she pivoted to the side to clear the entry way, making a grand gesture of welcome to Angela that was undoubtedly meant to be disarming but was anything but.

Angela hesitated for a minute. She knew a trap when she saw one, and nothing good would come of this. She took a shaky breath and stepped in all the same. She needed answers and this wasn’t something they would talk about on the doorstep in the rain. _Besides,_ she told herself, _I can drip all over her floor and mess up her house._

And she did just that, a pool forming under her as she stood in the entryway. Moira silently disappeared upstairs and returned moments later with a dark grey towel, fluffy and soft. Angela resisted the urge to press her face into the fabric, she chose to ignore the scent of cloves and leather that even after all this time she would always recognize as Moira’s scent. She patted her hair dry and glared out from under the towel, “Why are you here?”

“This is my home.” Moira explained, “Where else would I be?” Her accent wasn’t as thick as it used to be. It was there, but not like it used to be. She turned into the den, which Angela saw was more of a makeshift laboratory, and motioned to a couch, “Sit, if you’d like.” She grabbed an empty glass that sat near a pile of type-written pages with notes scrawled all over them and made her way to a small bar cart to the side of the room. She fetched a second glass and began pouring as Angela walked over to the couch but did not sit.

“You know what I mean. What is Blackwatch?” Angela wasted no time, not sure how long her welcome would last. Clearly Moira intended to toy with her a bit, she saw, so best to get this over with and leave before . . . Best to get this over with.

Moira turned from the small cart with two glasses in hand, she’d refilled her own and filled another and held it out to Angela, who scowled at the offered glass before her manners compelled her to take it, though she didn’t drink it. She knew it would be good, yes, Moira had never skimped on whiskey, but her mind was already enough of a mess without alcohol. Not to mention she refused to truly accept Moira’s ‘hospitality’ or whatever this game truly was.  She held the glass in both hands in her lap as she sat, legs crossed, trying to keep her foot from bouncing with nerves.

There were not many options for seats in the room, and Angela was relieved when Moira did not sit next to her on the couch but deftly rolled the chair from the table where she’d apparently been working. She sat quietly across from Angela, between them a low coffee table littered with notes and publications. Despite sitting down, Moira still seemed to tower over Angela and she leaned forward a bit, but said nothing. Angela’s heart rate, already not particularly calm, raised a few beats as she spit out the words accusatorily, “Tell me.”

Moira took a drink from her glass and fixed her piercing gaze on Angela, “I’m afraid that’s classified, Dr. Ziegler.”

“I’m the head of medical operations at Overwatch, and whatever Blackwatch is, it’s within Overwatch.” Angela threw back, gaining a bit of courage, and not being able to resist putting in a little jab she added, “If you are doing anything related to medical operations or research, that makes you my _subordinate,_ Dr. O’Deorain.”

Angela could not mistake the annoyance that flashed across Moira’s face as anything but absolute offense at the idea that she could be considered a subordinate of Angela’s, but she regained her composure quickly, “On the contrary, Dr. Zeigler, we are wholly separate and we have nothing to do with one another,” Moira apparently decided one jab deserves a return, adding over the rim of her glass as she raised it to her lips again, “Just like you wanted.”

Angela narrowed her eyes, considering her options. Should she fight back? Force Moira to acknowledge that it was her fault, not Angela’s, that Angela had been forced to leave, that her actions drove them apart and not Angela’s? She wanted to so badly, to argue her case. But she had argued it far too many times in the past, and look where it got them. No, she had assured herself _many many times_ en route to this planned confrontation that this wasn’t about _them_ and she wouldn’t let Dr. O’Deorain make it about them. This was about medical operations going on at Overwatch without her oversight, something she would be hesitant to allow in any case, but certainly would not stand for with Moira at the head of the effort. God only knows what sorts of horrific things they were doing in whatever lab Moira had secured for herself . . . Angela’s eyes fell to the coffee table, looking for some clue, but nothing jumped out at her as out of the ordinary for a geneticist to be reading or working on. She decided she would look at the manuscript on the desk, if she was able, before she left. If she could escape Moira’s watchful gaze long enough. Oh, oh this silence had been too long. She’d let that hang in the air and now she regretted it even more than if she’d snapped back in the moment.

Angela took a deep, steadying breath and rotated the glass idly in her fingertips, “I realize that Overwatch’s mission lends itself to benefiting from covert operations. I do not know the details of Blackwatch, but I can piece together enough from a secret organization within an organization. You’re doing . . . you’re doing what Overwatch cannot admit it is doing.”

"And as such, if I am doing anything at all, it benefits _us both_ that you not know about it,” Moira finished her thought, “But surely you realized that. Dr. Ziegler. You didn’t come here expecting answers,” Moira settled back in her chair, keeping her calculating gaze fixed on Angela, but Angela felt her eyes moving slowly, appraisingly across her form and she felt small and pathetic in her rain-drenched clothes. After a moment the question Angela didn’t dare even ask herself came, “So why _did_ you come here, Angela?’

Angela was fairly certain she kept her breath from noticeably catching, but her fixed, accusatory scowl turned into an introspective frown. She answered quickly this time, though, despite all the thoughts racing through her head she’d been trying to squelch since she first considered coming here, “To make sure you are not doing anything unethical. To make sure you are not going to damage Overwatch.”

Moira seemed to consider her response for a moment, then sighed with exasperation, “While I assure you, Angela, I would like nothing more than to carry out my research without the burden of oversight, you may rest assured, _mo stór,_ I am as burdened as ever.” She stood then, Angela needing to lean back a little just to follow her movements as she truly towered above her now, and walked back to the cart. With two quick gulps she finished her glass, and began pouring another. She nodded toward Angela’s still-untasted glass, “Too much? If memory serves you wanted two fingers most of the time.”

Angela’s certain her cheeks flushed, but hoped that Moira would think it was because of the weather. Of course she wouldn’t, of course Moira would catch it. It was why she’d said it in the first place, of course. Ugh. The toying, she knew it was coming. So why? Moira was right, _why had she come here?_ Why subject herself to _this_ at the hands of _her_?

To see her again. To see if she was still the way she always was, all calculating intellect and scathing commentary. To see if she was still tall, beautiful. To see if her hair was still perfectly slicked back and fiery red (it was), to see if her accent was still thick and charming (it was harder to notice, now, but there), to see if she still walked with purpose (she did), to see if she could still make Angela’s cheeks burn with just a look (she could), to see if hearing her call Angela ‘ _mo stór_ ’ still made her heart flutter (she wouldn’t admit it). To see if Moira had changed. She hadn’t.

She watched Angela appraisingly, quiet as Angela’s thoughts turned and twisted and her heart thundered in her chest.  Her mouth was dry, and eventually she could not help but take a small sip from her glass. She cleared her throat, “Wh- what are you working on? What can you tell me?”

If Moira was disappointed that her off-color pun went unanswered, she did not show it. In fact, she seemed as if this answer pleased her more than any answer to how many fingers Angela might prefer now. Angela knew this expression and demeanor, she hated how much she loved it. Moira was ready to talk shop.

* * *

Finally, a conversation worth having. Obviously she couldn’t and wouldn’t discuss Blackwatch, so why was Angela even here? She wasn’t stupid, she knew it would be fruitless. But Moira wasn’t stupid either. She knew the moment she opened the door to see the woman dripping on her doorstep that this is what the masses would refer to as a ‘booty call,’ but she wasn’t sure if Angela realized that yet.

She would coax her to it in her own way. But Angela was resistant, she wouldn’t fall so easily into admitting what brought her here, to herself or to Moira. It’s why Moira adored Angela so much, that she could be so strong, so sharp, so smart, so stubborn, so _worthy;_ that she would always put on a good show, put up enough of a fight. She was perfect, and in spite of Moira’s determination to remain collected and in control of this encounter she felt deep down the familiar heartache she’d been pushing further and further down into the depths for several years running. She was thankful for the chance to talk about her work, about _their_ work if Angela were willing to share as well as listen, to distract herself from that familiar want.

“Many things, of course, though nothing novel, I’m still becoming accustomed to the new lab.” She explained smoothly, unsure how much Angela already knew about Blackwatch, or _how_ she’d come to know of Moira’s involvement and even her address, “Mostly alterations on previous designs. I’m sure it won’t please you to know that my clearance allows me access to Overwatch’s blueprint database,” she regarded Angela very carefully now, “The Valkyrie suit makes for a promising template from which to work.”

The reaction was mostly as Moira was expecting. Angela was taken aback, then visibly angry, and she shot back, “ _Of course you would._ My designs are for _battlefield triage,_ Moira, not . . . whatever Blackwatch has you doing with it. It’s for helping Overwatch’s heroes, and the people of the world.”

Moira hadn’t heard Angela call her Moira in so many years, and it felt good to hear, even acidic and angry as she was. She remained collected, “We have similar assignments, Angela, we simply are approaching the same goal via a different route . . . my designs, too, should help our heroes fight the good fight.” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes a bit as she took a gulp, finishing this glass as well. She wasn’t lying, she was specifically tasked with research and development of new modes of support and healing. To be honest she wasn’t sure Angela would disagree with her methods _this time,_ she just wasn’t at liberty to say was all. It was her side projects that Angela might find a little less tolerable, but Angela hadn’t asked about side projects.

It was clear that Angela was trying to decide whether to believe Moira or not, and in the interim Moira continued, “The Valkyrie suit is impressive, and the staff moreso, though it is stunted. The regeneration output could be significantly improved, and its damage output as well, with a few modifica—“

“It’s not meant to be a weapon.” Angela retorted quickly, “And I refuse to turn it into one.”

 _And that’s why they hired me to do it instead,_ Moira thought to herself, but simply nodded, “Very well, though if you should ever want to compare design notes . . . well, you know where I live,” Moira smirked a bit, “How, by the way, do you know where I live? And about my being here at all?”

* * *

Angela considered keeping the file leak a secret, but thought better of it. A file leak was bad, but a mole was worse. Best to assure this ‘Blackwatch’ that they were secure as far as Angela was aware, “Your medical intake file . . . I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to see it, it was encrypted or something, but I was able to access it for a little while about two months ago. I didn’t know it was yours until I opened it, I thought it was a system error. But I lost access, I didn’t see anything else.” She explained calmly. She was not apologetic, not defensive. Just an explanation. Just the facts. The way they usually talked.

“Mmmmm, yes, the cyber security problems are a known issue that has been fixed,” Moira leaned forward to place her elbows on her knees as she sat across from her, grinning wickedly, “But two months? What took you so long to come see me, _mo stór_?”

Though she was mostly dry now, Angela shivered a bit, “I . . . was deciding whether to come or not.” _Honesty. Let’s try honesty._

“Mmmm, and why did you finally decide to pay me a visit on a day like today?”

 _Perhaps let’s not try honesty._ Angela chewed her lip. She wouldn’t tell Moira that she had left her house several times in the recent weeks intending to come here, but lost her nerve en route, or that the reason she finally made the full journey today was precisely because it _was_ today. It wasn’t a special day, no, but the rolling grey clouds, the soft patter of rain on the roof of her home had been maddening. They reminded her of her—of _their_ trip to Ireland years ago. It had been beautiful. It had been wonderful. And knowing Moira was there, so accessible, she could see her . . . She honestly couldn’t say if she _wanted_ to see Moira, but she knew she _needed_ to see Moira, and soon. And now here she was, and she wasn’t sure what she expected, or what she wanted, or what she needed. She took another drink and tried to ignore the scent of Moira now mixed with her own scent wafting from the damp towel draped around her shoulders.

Moira stood quite suddenly, apparently favoring a switch in tactics, “Very well, Dr. Ziegler. I’ve told you what I am able about the organization, and about my work. I have a lot of work to do today, so if you have no more need of me, _Dr. Ziegler,_ I can call you a cab?”

Angela sputtered briefly, unsure what to say. Did she want to leave? No, she wanted to stay. But why? She certainly didn’t want to discuss their research . . . that betrayal still stung her to this day and she could not bear picking at that wound right now. She didn’t expect to get meaningful information on Blackwatch. So why was she here, and why did she want to stay? All the same, her manners had apparently taken control and she found she was standing next to Moira now, holding her half-drank whisky glass and the damp towel out to her hostess. _Mein gott, she’s so tall._

Moira took the glass first and threw it back, finishing what remained in one big gulp. Angela gulped as well, her gaze fixed on the muscles in Moira’s long, slender neck as she did so. The glasses both thudded as Moira set both onto the table, then grasped the damp towel in her right hand. She jerked the towel a bit toward her while stepping forward, her left arm quickly finding its way around Angela’s waist as in a single fluid motion Moira brought them together, lifted Angela onto her toes, and craned her neck down to crash her lips against Angela’s firmly. It wasn’t a soft, sweet reunion kiss, laced with heartache and lost love. It was hungry and demanding, forceful and greedy, possessive.

Instinctively Angela dropped the towel and both of her hands shot up, her fingers taking handfuls of Moira’s black button-down between them, and she pushed lightly, nowhere near forceful enough to separate them as Moira’s grip around her waist held her firm. Was she going to push Moira away? She should. This was a terrible idea, and how dare Moira do this? She needed to get that cab and go home and not ever come back here again. This was terrible, and she shouldn’t. Angela groaned a bit as Moira’s mouth opened and she felt the familiar, maddening sensation of Moira’s tongue playing past her lips, touching her own tongue, invading her. The towel forgotten, Moira threaded her long, slender fingers through Angela’s hair. As Angela’s body relaxed a bit into Moira’s form, Moira stepped forward, pushing her knee between Angela’s legs and pressing her thigh against Angela as she tightened her grip in the shorter woman’s hair.

Angela wasn’t clear if it was the intoxicating movements of Moira’s tongue, the sudden feeling of her hair being pulled, or the leg pressing against the quickly growing heat between her legs but something brought her back to reason. She pushed herself unceremoniously away from Moira, and hated that while Moira seemed a bit surprised, she didn’t seem disappointed. Her cheeks were a bit flushed, Angela noticed, nearly drowning out the freckles that she knew Moira disliked so much but Angela had always found endearing, and her pupils were dilated, and her respiratory rate was increased. But all in all? She looked fine, and she stepped back calmly, and Angela knew her own hair was mussed, her eyes probably wild, and she hated the heat in her cheeks and between her legs.

After regarding her for a moment “Unfortunate,” was all Moira said, and Angela hated her all the more for it. As Angela quickly tried to fix her hair Moira bent and retrieved the dropped towel, and gave a heavy, deliberate sigh, “Very well then. Like I said, I have work to do. There is a landline in the kitchen, if you’d like to call a taxi.” She moved to the table and gathered whatever she had been working on with one hand. _Darn, no snooping._ “Thank you for your visit, Dr. Ziegler,” Moira was calm, and her tone even with a bit of a taunting air, “I’ll be upstairs if you decide you need me.”

And with that she left up the creaking stairs to what Angela presumed was a bedroom. Moira was upstairs, in the bedroom, if Angela needed her. Angela wanted to spit. Moira was the worst.


	2. Unaccustomed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't start out writing a PWP collection and then decide to write a fic where the same characters are a teenager and child. Makes you feel like a dirty, dirty pervert even if the youth fic is nothing but innocent. :( Makes it really hard to write them bangin.

Angela cursed each wooden step as it creaked underneath her feet. She knew Moira could hear her coming from upstairs, and she could just see that triumphant smirk on her face and Angela cursed that too. She ascended slowly, still hoping that reason would win out before she reached the top of the stairs, that she’d turn around and walk right out into the rain, hail a cab herself. But still she climbed.

She didn’t know what the room at the top of the stairs looked like yet, and so she found it difficult to picture what Moira would be doing as she listened to her fall slowly but surely into her trap. Was Moira’s bedroom as sparsely decorated as her hall? Did she have a fireplace? A twin bed? Would her bed creak under their weight? Did she have a headboard with slats? Were her sheets soft? Angela hated that she couldn’t feel cold from the rain anymore, just a growing warmth in her skin, and she felt her legs begin to tremble a bit.

She would never have described their _arrangement_ as having been conventional, even years ago when they might have considered themselves to be well and truly together. They’d had something resembling a courtship, with dinners out here and there, and eventually they did share a home. They considered themselves together, truly, but even then it was not wholly conventional. Their bedroom, wherever it might have been, was always a different domain. Sometimes the edges would blur in flirtatious comments, cheeky fondlings, or foreplay that would eventually take them _into_ the bedroom, but who they were inside and outside the bedroom was different, and that was a sacred and mostly unspoken fact between the two, as it had remained for many years. Outside was real life, with a hint of scene. Inside was a scene, and as Angela crept up the stairs at an agonizing pace, she hoped that real life could not peek its way in.

It’s what Moira had been referring to, of course, when she referred to it as a _need_. They both knew it, that no matter what had happened between them they each fulfilled a need the other had long possessed, saw to a hunger that they could only sate together.

Angela reached the top of the stair and found herself facing a window with no dressings. Looking out she could see a small green back garden down below, and the tops of houses in the neighborhood around them, all steadily drizzled on in the grey evening. Here she could also hear better the pat-pat of rain on the roof as well, and Angela was fairly certain it was the only thing that would keep Moira from hearing her heart pounding from even a great distance.

Turning, she saw a short hall which ran parallel to the stairs, and one white painted door was open. The towel she had been using was hanging on the door knob, and she could see the hint of a reflection off a mirror inside the dark bathroom.

Only one other room remained on this floor, it seemed, as only one other door was present. The bedroom must be large, covering a similar space as the entirety of the kitchenette and den/laboratory downstairs. The door was closed. Angela still had a chance to turn around and leave, forget she’d seen the file, forget about Blackwatch, forget about Moira. Forget about Moira? Impossible, obviously. If it were possible, she’d have done it by now. She’d tried very, very hard.

Somehow she was already standing at the door, and she was already knocking, as if driven by something outside herself. In the silence that followed she considered if she should have knocked at all. They weren’t . . . _comfortable_ with one another right now, not yet. No, it was good she knocked. If she hadn’t, it would have been considered rude. Moira would have been upset, she would have looked at her with disgust, she probably would have exacted some sort of punishment. With the quietest of whimpers Angela closed her eyes as she savored that brief thought and regretted knocking at all.

“Come in,” Came the delayed, quiet response from inside.

Angela opened her eyes again and took a steadying breath as she turned the knob and pushed the door inward.

The room was indeed large, at least in regard to how much of the total property it made up. Directly ahead of Angela was another window, like the one behind her near the stairs, showing the rainy street on which Moira lived. This one had curtains, but they were pulled back, and this lent the room most of its cold, grey light. There was a lamp lending some slightly warmer, soft light from a bedside table; the bed a queen-sized mattress with its headboard (yes, wooden, with a series of vertical slats, Angela noticed) pushed under the window. The duvet was deep aubergine in color and looked impossibly fluffy for such an impeccably made bed.

Angela stood in the doorway, continuing to take in the room. She sensed Moira sitting to her right, eyes fixed on her, but as Moira had not said or done anything, neither would Angela, and she had a sense that until their eyes locked, this is how it would stay, and so her eyes continued to wander.

The lamp sat on a dark wooden bedside table which had a mate on the other side as well. Both had deep drawers, now closed, and Angela found herself wondering what of their old things Moira might still keep in there. The idea that she might found out today made her cheeks flush and her breath quicken a bit. On the table which did not hold the lamp was an old digital alarm clock which threw green light at her. It was 3:43 PM. She looked to her left, continuing to avoid connecting sight with Moira, and saw a large closet set across the wall with accordion-style doors painted white, now closed. Woefully out of things to examine away from Moira, she inhaled shakily as she moved her eyes back across the bed to where Moira sat.

There was no fireplace in this room, but the chimneys Angela had noticed now made sense: There was a small wood-burning stove in the corner, cold and unlit. Beside it was a small pile of cord wood, and Angela thought surely anyone who _wasn’t_ Moira would have lit a cozy fire and snuggled up under the duvet on a day like today, not worked away in the cold den downstairs. She pushed the thought of cold winter nights spent warm with Moira out of her mind quickly. That, those sorts of feelings, times like those, they were not what this was about right now. This was a much different longing that led to them finally falling eye to eye.

Moira was sitting in a dark leather wingback chair, turned to face the doorway. Angela could easily imagine the addition of a bearskin rug underfoot, a roaring fire in the stove, a double-breasted housecoat and long cigarette in Moira’s hand . . . she wasn’t sure if it were the silliest or most intoxicatingly sexy thing she’d imagined lately, but it was one of the two.

Moira had her legs crossed, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Angela smiled a bit in spite of her nerves, remembering Moira grumbling to her long ago that she found most chairs uncomfortable since her long torso made most armrests badly placed, and so she usually had to just put her hands in her lap. Angela imagined Moira fussing for a perfect pose while she had been downstairs fighting with herself over leaving or staying. It was cute. Angela pushed that from her mind. Moira would not want to be cute right now, and she didn’t want her to be either.

Moira’s mismatched eyes had been on Angela since the door had opened, and they held her gaze now. _And here we go then,_ Angela thought, and she had the feeling Moira had thought a very similar thing as the door had opened.

“Come inside, and close the door,” Moira instructed with authority, and Angela pushed the door closed behind her without breaking eye contact. As the door clicked into place Moira continued to regard her for a few aching moments of silence. Angela shifted her weight back and forth on each foot, feeling a light pulse between her legs that made her want to cross them, but she fought the urge. “Good, now, take off your clothes, they’re still . . . _damp._ ” Moira wrinkled her nose in revulsion.

Angela swallowed hard at single hard pulse the demand sent through her, and moved to follow orders. She had not been dressed for the weather in any way, shape, or form, wearing only a royal blue polo shirt with the Overwatch logo emblazoned on the left breast and both shoulders, and a pair of black slacks and simple black mules. She pushed the mules off her feet as her hands moved to the hem of her shirt. She had time to see Moira lean forward ever so slightly before she pulled it up and over her head. Certainly it mussed her hair, but the rain and toweling off had already done that. She probably looked a mess, she suddenly realized, but it didn’t seem to be ruining things for Moira. On the contrary, Angela knew the sound of Moira’s breath catching as her damp, flushed skin was exposed to the cool apartment air. She considered moving more slowly for her slacks and undergarments, but she found herself far too impatient to see what Moira would do next, and she did not want to delay finding out. Deftly she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. Rather than removing it, she unbuttoned her slacks and hooked her thumbs under her decidedly unsexy cotton panties and pushed all of the fabric down to the floor at once, letting her bra fall down her arms and off in the same movement. She frowned down at the very plain, unsexy garments pooled on the floor. Why oh why didn’t she wear something sexy and enticing? Because she had thought she would chicken out like all the other times, she knew. Oh well, nothing to be done about it now.

She straightened up, and she blamed the cold apartment for the almost painful stiffness in her nipples, and the noticeable gooseflesh along her arms and legs. Certainly those were caused by the cold, and not Moira’s appraising, approving gaze or the way Angela noticed Moira licked her lips when she had straightened back up. Angela took one step toward Moira, more to get out of the damp clothing pile around her ankles than anything else, and waited.

“ _Very_ good,” Moira hummed, and she made no attempt to hide her eyes’ languid tour up and down Angela’s body. Angela suddenly wondered if they shouldn’t draw the curtains, if there weren’t some person in a flat across the street getting a lovely show right now, but Moira’s next command sent that thought away quick enough, “Turn around.”

Angela felt like she was submitting her body for inspection, mostly because that is exactly what she was doing. She stood up as straight as she could, and slowly turned on her heel to face away from Moira. In a way it was easier to stand here like this, not having to meet Moira’s stare which seemed to alternate in any given moment between hunger and boredom. Angela knew, of course, that while the boredom was feigned the hunger was very real, and this fact riled her up a bit too much. Easier to stare at the accordion doors of the closet. But that was its own torture, knowing Moira was behind her, looking at her, appraising her but not able to see Moira’s reaction, guess at her next move.

“Good,” Moira’s voice snapped in the silence, and Angela heard her stand, felt her presence grow taller behind her in the same moment, Moira continued in a snappy manner which reminded Angela of a school teacher only barely pleased with her student, “You still know how to follow directions, at least.” With one step she closed the considerable distance between them, and Angela felt cool hands come to rest on her shoulders, thumbs crossing over the back of her neck. God, could Moira feel how hot her skin was, feel her hammering heartbeat through her bones?  She heard the whimper, no doubt, that escaped Angela as she felt Moira’s hands rest on her bare skin for the first time in far too long. She felt Moira reach down, felt her breath on her ear, and she closed her eyes and held her breath as Moira whispered, “That will serve you well tonight, _mo stór_.”

What undoubtedly began as an involuntary moan turned into a yelp of surprise as Moira repositioned her hands, the left moving to close around Angela’s throat from the front, the right simultaneously moving to the back of Angela’s head.  As she pressed herself against Angela’s back Moira weaved her fingers through Angela’s messy, mostly-dry hair and grabbed a handful of blonde strands, tugging her head backward to expose her neck where Moira’s other hand was gripping her tightly, just tight enough where Angela could still breathe in relative comfort, though Angela couldn’t tell if the pulse in her neck belonged to her or Moira at this point. Angela groaned as Moira pressed her lips against Angela’s ear and cooed in a low voice that was equally threatening and sweet, “We have a lot to make up for, don’t we?” She drew away and Angela felt her head jerked to the other side as Moira moved to whisper in her other ear with that same tone of dark promise, “Don’t worry, _mo stór,”_ A warm kiss to her ear, “I’ll take care of you tonight.”

With Moira holding them together it was certain she felt Angela’s whole body shudder, and Angela felt Moira’s lips were curled into a smile as another kiss was placed on her ear, and she felt Moira exhale hotly against her as the grip around her neck released, and she was turned and pushed roughly toward the bed. She threw her hands out instinctively to catch herself, her hands splayed across the purple duvet (which was, in fact, very fluffy and soft), her thighs hitting the foot of the bed roughly, causing her to nearly fall forward, “Stay there, like that,” came the low-toned command from behind her, and she heard Moira turn to face her back again. Her own legs shook a bit, she had ‘landed’ somewhat awkwardly, half on the bed and half off, leaning forward on her toes. She doubted she could stay like this long, and prayed Moira would hurry with whatever would come next. She heard the rustle of fabric, and thought about how Moira’s button-down had felt in her fists downstairs. She consciously resisted the urge to turn around, to watch Moira undress the same way Moira had watched her. In her mind’s eye she could see Moira, slow and meticulous, unbuttoning her shirt and holding it over her forearm. As if spurred on by Angela's imagination, she heard exactly what knew to picture next: The soft sound of nails on metal, a buckle undone, the release of a zipper. When Angela’s legs trembled it wasn’t from the awkward stance, and the cold air between her legs was a stark contrast to the warmth she felt radiating from her very core, and it was not the rain that made her so wet anymore. Moira continued to speak quietly throughout, a soft and steady tone as though she were explaining how to perform a delicate procedure, “Now, Angela, you should know that our time apart has not dulled my expectations for you. I know what you are capable of and I won’t accept anything less from you, do you understand?” Angela nodded. “Good.” Angela heard Moira step out of her shoes, and the sound of fabric being tossed onto the wingback chair, but she kept her face forward. At the very top of her vision she could see grey light through the window, but mostly she could see Moira’s bed.

She heard Moira move again, and felt Moira’s bare foot lightly kick the inside of her right leg, pushing her legs open. Breathing a sigh of relief, Angela used this movement as an excuse to settle down off her toes. The movement resettled her buttocks against Moira’s thighs, and she heard a muffled gasp from Moira. Angela grinned to herself and lowered her head to the bed herself onto her elbows, bettering her angle. With a delicate push of her hips, more up than back, she moved across Moira’s thighs and deliberately let out a pleading whimper. She heard a throaty chuckle as she felt Moira’s hands on her ass, moving smoothly over the skin, fingers splayed at first, but she winced in pain as Moira suddenly gripped hard with both hands, and Angela felt the sting of fingernails digging into her bare flesh, “Don’t be so eager so quickly, Angela, you’re not _that_ much of a slut, are you?”

A spark from Angela’s very core lit, and met with the painful, pleasurable tingling as Moira massaged Angela’s ass with both hands, roughly and not bothering to keep her fingernails away from Angela’s tender flesh. Angela let her face fall into the duvet to muffle her reply.

“What was that, Angela? You’ll need to speak up, darling,” Moira pinched her right cheek sharply in punishment, “Come on, let me hear you. Are you that much of a slut, Dr. Ziegler?”

Rather than lifting her face off the bed, she ducked her head further down, until she was looking down her own body and between her own legs. She could see Moira’s long, pale legs between hers, and as if someone had pressed play on hundreds of memories visions of dangling straps and sensations of forceful thrusts threatened to distract her away from this moment. She cleared her throat nervously, and repeated herself more clearly, “O-only for you, Moira.”

Her face was flushed from arousal and embarrassment, and she’d already buried her face back into the duvet when Moira responded by moving her right hand from pinching to petting, passing a finger each along the outside of Angela’s outer labia. She started further back, and moved forward, pressing down and in as her fingers reached the immediate vicinity of Angela’s already throbbing clit, and Angela groaned loudly into the bedspread, unable to keep herself from pushing against the pressure, “That’s right, _mo stór,_ and look how ready you are already,” Angela groaned again as Moira pulled her hand back and slowly, steadily plunged one long, strong finger into her. She withdrew it slowly, repeating the movement just a few times before Angela heard another chuckle, “Oh, I’m sorry, we went over this downstairs. Two fingers has always been your preference, hasn’t it?” Angela let out a throaty moan as Moira continued, pushing a second finger alongside the first. Had her fingers always been this long, this dexterous. Moira slowed a bit, pushing harshly with the pads of her fingers against Angela’ g-spot, twisting her thumb to move up through Angela’s slick folds to brush harshly against her throbbing clit.

 _Gott, nein, noch nicht,_ Angela bit her lip, willing herself to hold on. What would Moira do if she came too fast their first time after all these years? God, would she laugh at her? Get angry? _Punish_ her? That thought alone would be Angela’s undoing, “M-moira, please, slow do--“

Moira laughed and quickened her pace, the pad of her thumb tracing rough, slow circles around Angela’s swollen clit as she moved two hooked fingers inside her faster. Angela felt Moira’s left hand abandon massaging and grasping and pinching at her ass and felt Moira lean forward, god her weight felt so good pressing against Angela’s thighs, and then Moira’s hand was back in her hair, tugging harshly to lift her head off the duvet, “What was that, Angela? You’re mumbling again and you know I hate it when you mumble.” She punctuated her sentence with another harsh tug on Angela’s hair, perfectly timed with a deep thrust of her fingers.

Rather than repeating her request, Angela could withstand no more and a yelp devolved into a loud, prolonged groan as she felt herself tighten and clench rhythmically around Moira’s fingers, “Moiraaaaaaa,” she groans out slowly, flushed from her climax and from her embarrassment at coming undone so easily, so quickly to Moira’s touch. She was better than this, she knew it. But Moira had always done this to her. She was just out of practice, that’s all.

Angela heard Moira’s derisive laugh behind her as she slumped to her knees, legs too shaky to hold her up much longer. Somehow to fall to the ground seemed less presumptuous, less familiar, than falling forward onto the bed. It seemed safer. “S-sorry,” she breathed as she gripped the duvet, letting her face fall against it.

Moira made a mocking ‘tsk-tsk’ sound but didn’t back away. Angela lifted her eyes as she kneeled between Moira’s legs. When Moira didn’t scold her for doing so, Angela maneuvered to face her, still on her knees. God, she was as statuesque as Angela remembered, as she’d seen her in every lustful dream since the day they’d first met. Moira had withdrawn her hands, and had one crossed across her stomach and it supported the other elbow while Moira rested her chin in a v-shape made of her thumb and forefinger. Her fingers were wet and glistening in the cold grey light, and Angela didn’t think she had seen anything more arousing in years, if ever. Moira’s expression was one of pity and cruel amusement. “So soon, Dr. Ziegler? So easy? Well, we can see you weren’t lying about being a little slut for me, were you?” She reached her hand down and ran a slick thumb along Angela’s jaw and up, resting her thumb against Angela’s lips, “Open.” Angela did so, and she could taste herself on Moira’s thumb as it invaded her mouth.  She moaned around Moira’s thumb as Moira harshly pushed around in her oral cavity, moving in and out a few times as she grinned maliciously down at Angela, speaking all the while, “I wasn’t lying either. I know what you’re capable of, and you can do better.” Angela moaned in the affirmative, and Moira pulled her thumb out so roughly the “pop” was loud in the room, and saliva dripped from her thumb as she moved both hands to cup either sides of Angela’s face, coaxing her to sit up on her knees higher.

Angela needed no further instruction, and finally broke away from Moira’s gaze to let her eyes trail down her body. She’d developed more freckles across her shoulders and chest, but otherwise Moira was just as she remembered. Angela momentarily wondered if the pile of clothing in the chair contained boxer briefs, or if Moira’s underwear preferences had changed in all this time. A question for another day. Down and down, Angela’s eyes finally met with a small bunch of swirling tufts of visibly damp, red hair, but this was all Angela had time to see before both of Moira’s hands moved from cupping her cheeks to the back of her head. With one solid movement Moira pushed her own body forward and pulled Angela’s face roughly against her, and Angela moaned as she felt Moira hot and wet against her face. Both her hands came up to steady herself, gripping the backs of Moira’s thighs as she opened her mouth, parting Moira with her tongue gently, barely grazing Moira’s clit in the process. Moira took in a sharp breath, and Angela thought for a moment she would pull back, snap at Angela, something to drive home her control. But it seemed Angela wasn’t the only one whose need all these years made holding back much too difficult to be worth it.

Instead Moira pushed them together harder, and Angela felt her nose awkwardly smoosh against Moira’s pubis as her tongue was forced down further into Moira’s dripping folds. Her skin was as soft as velvet, hot and wet, and Angela wanted revenge. She would not be the only one to finish far too quickly, she vowed. Her little rebellion, her quiet victory.

She pushed her tongue slowly, softly across every inch of Moira that she could reach from her position, before fixing her lips around Moira’s swollen clit. Moira was already moaning quietly, and she bucked her hips forward with a grunt as Angela arrived at her intended destination, sucking lightly and moving her tongue round and round, flicking up and down, and round and round again. Everything was Moira right now. She could see her, feel her, smell her, hear her, taste her, and every sensation piled onto the next and filled Angela’s whole world. Moira was breathing fast and heavy, and rather than issue commands or pull away she seemed to opt for a different display of power: She gripped Angela’s hair roughly with both hands and pushed them together so hard that Angela thought she might suffocate as Moira pushed herself down onto Angela’s mouth, but it was an acceptable way to die, Angela felt, at least in this moment.

Moira’s breaths were ragged and becoming uneven, her small hip thrusts becoming more wild. When Angela lifted her eyes, tongue still working at Moira’s clit, she saw Moira’s hooded, mismatched eyes staring hungrily down at her, and it was clear to them both that Moira was about to lose all semblance of control.

“Mmmmmm,” Angela hummed around Moira’s clit, and Moira’s eyes slammed shut and she groaned out Angela’s name loudly, pushing forward with such force that Angela’s head was pushed back into the bed. Moira stood like that for some time, giving small, haphazard thrusts with her hips as she half-straddled Angela’s face on the side of the bed, her hands still tangled in the blonde’s hair. As her climax finally subsided and Angela could only feel the slightest twitches in the muscles of Moira’s thighs, Moira stepped back and released Angela’s hair.

Moira stood straight again, licked her lips, and ran one hand through her hair, her face still flushed. Angela felt if Moira had been wearing clothing, she would straighten it. Angela, for her part, gingerly wiped a forearm across her slick face as she shakily regained her feet to stand at the base of Moira’s bed.

Only the heavy breathing, slowing now, from each of them filled the room as they regarded one another. Angela felt truly at a loss for what to do, and simply waited to be told.

Moira stooped and picked up the pile of Angela’s clothes and held them out to her, saying in a sterile, impersonal voice, “You know where the bathroom is, if you want to shower.”

Angela took the offered clothing, and silently nodded. She stood still for a moment more, as did Moira, but then Angela nodded again, and left. As she entered the bathroom and turned on the light she chanced a glance back at the bedroom, ad could not see Moira from the doorway.

The bathroom was plain, but had all necessities. And it felt and smelt of Moira. Angela did not hurry, but she also refused to snoop through the medicine cabinet or linen closet. When at last she exited the bathroom she looked again. The bedroom door was closed, and the only light came from the grey window at the top of the stairs.

 


	3. Holding On

“I was very disappointed in you last time you came to see me, Angela,” Moira said with a calm, chiding voice, “I expected better.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Angela whispered in response.

“I can’t let you take all the blame, though,” Moira continued quietly. Her gaze had fallen slowly from Angela’s face, lips parted and cheeks pink, across her bare breasts rising and falling rhythmically, down her abdomen to where their bodies met. Moira had positioned herself kneeling between Angela’s spread legs as Angela lay back against her pillows, each hand gripping a slat in the headboard behind her head as she had been instructed.  She busied her gaze, as well as her hands, with Angela’s spread legs before her, massaging the sensitive flesh of Angela’s inner thighs. Every time Moira’s fingers moved up to the damp, warm tuft of blonde hair Angela’s breath would catch in a small gasp, and Moira would give a hum of amusement before roughly dragging her nails back down to Angela’s knees, earning a groan, “After all, you are out of practice. I should have realized you may need some _remedial training_.”

Moira leaned forward and she could feel Angela’s wet heat press against her stomach as she lay her body heavily over Angela’s, pushing the woman’s legs further apart with her weight. Lightly she kissed Angela, already breathing deeply, on the forehead and whispered, “But don’t worry, _mo stór_ , I’ll make sure you learn your lesson.” She drew back just enough to look Angela in the eyes, “You know the rules, don’t you, darling?”

Angela stuttered once as she found her voice, nodding slowly, “I- I can’t come until you say, Moira.”

Moira gave an nod of approval and kissed the tip of Angela’s nose lightly, “Good girl,” was all she said before crushing her lips down against Angela, who whimpered as she opened her mouth hungrily to Moira’s searching tongue. Moira gripped the underside of Angela’s thighs roughly, her nails leaving angry pink crescents across the pale white flesh as Moira ground herself bodily against Angela. For her part, Angela resisted the urge to release the bed slats and grab at Moira’s face, hair, breasts, hips, ass, anywhere she could reach. She held her grip, and simply pressed her body up into Moira, earning a pleasant moan for her efforts.

Moira unceremoniously pulled away, causing Angela to let out a soft grunt of displeasure as she arched her back upwards toward Moira, her ability to do so limited by her grip on the bed slats. She would follow instructions this time, she was determined.  Moira leaned back on her heels as she kneeled between Angela’s legs spread wide before her and grinned wolfishly down at the blonde, continuing her ministrations with her hands, massaging her fingers up Angela’s thighs and dragging her nails slowly back down. With a low chuckle deep in her throat Moira retreated further, leaving Angela much colder than she was moments ago. Soon, however, a warm pulse of anticipation emanated from deep within as Angela watched Moira settle herself between her legs, their eyes locked as Moira lowered her face, her lips parting.

Angela had to fight the urge to buck her hips upward as she felt the warm, velvety softness of Moira’s tongue pressed flat against her, pressing over her entrance only briefly before beginning an agonizingly slow, teasing journey upward, spreading her own wetness over her. Moira gave a quiet hum of approval, nearly unheard under Angela’s own groan of want. It did not go unnoticed, however, as it turned into a soft chuckle, and Angela knew already the reason Moira grinned so devilishly before ducking her head. Moira had meant what she’d said about training.

Quickly, _too soon_ , Angela felt Moira’s tongue again, pressing roughly against her clit, and this time she couldn’t hold back the urge to push herself toward Moira. Moira gave a sound that was not distinguishable as pleasure or annoyance as Angela felt her nails dig into the soft flesh of her thighs and Moira pushed her back down solidly onto the bed and held her there, attacking her sensitive clit all the more roughly. To say that Moira set to work ravishing her most sensitive spots in the most exquisite ways would be an understatement. Despite their time apart it was clear Moira had not forgotten just what worked Angela up fastest, and Angela felt her legs begin to tremble under Moira’s strong grip, her sharp nails digging deeper, as the pure stimulation began to overwhelm her. Angela had had her fair share of lovers, and she was familiar with the warm, pleasant waves as she built closer and closer to orgasm. But tonight there were no pleasant waves, just story shocks coming one right after the other, Moira’s tongue moving harshly, violently, toward her goal. And she was nearly there, too soon, much too soon. But that was the point. That was the exercise.

“M-Moira, you need to slow down,” Angela panted, gasping in frustration with every flick of Moira’s tongue as she seemed uninterested in listening to Angela’s plea, “It’s too much, p-please, Moira, I’m too close.” Her legs were trembling Moira dug her nails deeper into Angela’s thighs, but thankfully she seemed to acquiesce to Angela’s request. As suddenly as the attack on her throbbing clit had begun, it ceased, and Angela had no time to catch her breath before she tasted herself on Moira’s tongue, felt her own wetness on Moira’s lips as she invaded Angela’s mouth with abandon. Despite her own requests just moments before, Angela found herself lightly thrusting her hips upward, finding no satisfactory purchase as Moira had opted to move to her hands and knees, her goal no doubt to remove Angela’s hopes for any further stimulation.

Angela was a mess. She was thankful Moira had backed off when asked. Had she kept going, and Angela had been pushed over so easily, so soon, it would have been disgraceful. It was good that Moira had backed off. But still she couldn’t keep back a wanting whimper, her whole body buzzing, sitting on the edge and just waiting to be pushed over. Taking full advantage of the only physical stimulation she would be allowed, Angela did not resist as Moira’s tongue hungrily explored her mouth, drawing back only to allow Moira to nip and bite at Angela’s swollen lips before assailing her fully again. She fought the urge to release her grip on the bedframe; perhaps it was the ache in her arms or perhaps it was the way Moira kept herself just far enough away that Angela could make no contact with her, but every instinct shouted at her to take Moira in her arms, to pull her closer to her, onto her, to invite her to do anything she pleases to her.

But no, she would not release the bed slats. She was determined. She would follow instructions.

The alternating hungry kisses and biting assaults on her lips were enticing, but the absence of Moira’s body pushed against her allowed her a chance to come down, and she felt she had nearly regained control when Moira shifted, and Angela let out a long involuntary groan as she felt Moira’s thigh press against her, and already she felt herself grinding weakly against Moira, the renewed friction working her up again quickly.

“So eager,” Moira began with a teasing tone, but her voice turned quickly to show absolute disgust as she looked down her nose at Angela, feeling her grinding against her leg, “You know, if you’re that easy to please you could have stayed home and rubbed against some furniture.”

A torrent of shame swept through Angela, and she quickly grew still. She turned her eyes downward on instinct, but looking down her own naked body with Moira’s hovering just above her, the sight of Moira’s knee firmly placed against her wet, throbbing cunt was too much, and she looked away to the side.

Moira hummed with contemplation, turning her own gaze upward. She leaned forward, earning a gasp from Angela as her thigh ground firmly against her again, but Angela successfully fought the urge to begin working herself up again. As Moira leaned forward she placed one hand on Angela’s tricep, still held aloft as she gripped the bed slats tightly. The sensation was dull, and Angela realized she may be losing some feeling from holding the position so long. Moira traced up over her elbow, along her arm, her long fingers enclosing around Angela’s balled fist. In a smooth motion she brought her other hand to grip over Angela’s other, and as each hand had fallen into position she began to grind her knee harshly into Angela, still wet and ready. As they began anew Angela lifted her eyes again to take in Moira’s face, and it was breathtaking; Moira with her arms over her head, gripping tightly around Angela’s own hands, holding her there while she hovered over her. Was it the exertion of holding herself up in this fashion that made Moira’s breath so ragged, or was it the feeling of Angela against her, once again moving her hips, this time in time with Moira’s own movements?

It had to be slower this time, it had to be. Angela bit her lip in concentration.

But it wasn’t. Already halfway there, Angela quickly found her hip movements becoming more erratic, having trouble keeping in rhythm with the small but firm movements of Moira against her, “Moira, please, can I--?”

“No,” Moira’s tone was cold, cruel, and Angela whimpered pathetically but neither stopped their movements.

If she had been in her own mind Angela would have wondered if Moira had neighbors, and if they could hear the creaks of the bed as she thrust her hips, the soft exclamations and wanton groans she was growing increasingly unable to hold back. But she wasn’t in her mind; her entire world existed where Moira’s pale thigh, glistening with wetness in the dim light, pushed incessantly against her.

“I can’t,” Angela explained desperately, “A break, I need a—another break,” she pleaded between gasps.

Moira narrowed her eyes and scoffed down at her, “Pathetic,” In a move so sudden it might have been described as violent she ripped herself away from Angela, stepping smoothly off the side of the bed to stand over Angela. She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed, “You used to be so much better than this, you know?”

Angela wasn’t quite sure what she knew, or what had happened. She’d been there, on the brink, just praying for permission, and suddenly there was cool air between her thighs, and no one held her hands around the bed slats. She blinked up at Moira in a daze as her legs continued to tremble, licking her dry lips and racking her brain for what to say that would bring Moira back to her.

Moira gave a heavy, disappointed sigh and sat on the bed at Angela’s side, looking down at her, “Well, what have you got to say for yourself, hm? So easy. Look at you, ready to come the moment I touch you,” Without warning Moira reached over Angela and drove her long fingers between Angela’s slick folds, brushing once harshly over her swollen clit, and Angela cried out as she bucked her hips instinctually.

“Not easy,” she mumbled, unable to speak clearly as she bit down hard on her lip. Moira had begun to move her fingers slowly up and down, avoiding Angela’s clit now but managing to maddeningly find every other sensitive spot Angela possessed. Her memory was rock solid.

“What was that? If you mumble again I’ll turn you out on the street just like this, you know.” Moira said lazily, continuing her slow attentions, playing over Angela’s entrance as she passed, dipping a fingertip in but an inch before pulling it out and trailing her fingers back away, again and again, a tortuous pattern, “Then everyone can see you like this. Is that what you want, Angela? For people to see you like this?”

Angela shook her head, her eyes closed tight and her knuckles turning white as she gripped the slats with determination, “No. I said I’m not easy.”

“Oh?” Moira’s tone was one of bemusement, and had Angela opened her eyes she’d have seen Moira wore a teasing grin and a raised eyebrow moments before her voice became a low, accusatory growl, “Then how do you explain this?” And suddenly two fingers were inside of Angela, pumping harshly. As Angela let out a guttural groan of surprise and attempted to snap her legs closed, anything to stave off her impending, non-permitted climax. But Moira readjusted herself, throwing one leg over Angela’s to hold her legs open for her to continue her work, pushing and pressing at Angela with each quick thrust of her fingers.

Angela felt she’d figured out what she needed to say to gain the much-needed permission, and she opened her mouth to say ‘You, Moira, I’m only easy for you,’ but was interrupted as Moira pushed her thumb slickly up through her folds to rub against her clit, and Angela groaned instead, and she couldn’t hold on any longer. To the slats, that is.

Desperate to keep herself from finishing, Angela’s tingling arms shot down and she was grabbing Moira’s wrist, pushing her hand away as she shrunk back into the bed, away from the stimulation. As Moira let out an annoyed hiss of displeasure Angela realized that to avoid breaking one rule, she’d mistakenly broken the other.

Moira remained still for a moment, silent, looking down at where Angela’s hands still gripped her wrist, holding her wet hand a few inches away from her. Angela’s mouth was dry, and she licked her lips nervously as she watched Moira for what she would do next, the punishment she knew was coming.

“Hmph,” Moira huffed, disgruntled, and pulled her hand out of Angela’s grasp, once again moving to stand beside the bed. This time she didn’t look back at Angela, instead walking to the wing-back chair where much of their clothing had been discarded. She stooped down, and Angela in her daze simply took in Moira’s lithe, pale body. Moira fished out some fabric, Angela’s panties she saw, and began wiping off her fingers as she spoke with disappointment, “Very well then, if you don’t want me to touch you,” Moira shrugged, still turned away from Angela, “Then I won’t.”

“No, Moira, please, that’s not what I meant,” Angela hated how desperate she sounded, but she was so close, and she needed it, needed Moira. She found herself sitting up on her knees on the bedside, leaning toward Moira, one hand outstretched to beckon her back to the bed, “I was too close, I didn’t want to mess up,” She tried to put on her sweetest, most angelic smile, adjusting her voice away from desperate and toward subordination, at least as much as she could given that truly she _was_ desperate, “I knew I didn’t have your permission, I didn’t want to upset you. I’m sorry, Moira, please.”

When her voice trailed off, Moira turned back toward her, “Please _what_?”

“Please fuck me, Moira,” While it was barely a whisper, one could not accuse Angela of mumbling. All the same, she repeated herself, hearing her own voice speaking the words pushing her that much closer to that edge, “Please, Moira, please fuck me. I’m sorry, please. I want you.”

The look on Moira’s face, in her eyes dark with dilated pupils, the sight of her swallowing hard as she clearly was similarly affected by Angela’s words . . . it was intoxicating. Moira stepped forward, close enough that Angela could reach her with her groping hand, and Angela pulled her closely, setting up on her knees and reaching her other arm up around Moira’s neck. She pulled Moira down into a kiss, and Moira followed willingly, moving her own hands up to cup Angela’s cheeks.

The kiss was surprisingly tender at first, all activities of the night considered. Soft, reverent. Not at all what Angela needed right now. But that’s alright, it wasn’t to last.

Moira’s strong hands pushed back on Angela’s face, and she fell awkwardly back over her heels, coming to rest on her butt on the bed. It made no difference to her, in fact this was preferable, and she spread her legs wide again for Moira, hoping that this was what Moira had in mind.

And it was, to an extent.

“Actions speak louder than words, _mo stór.”_ She returned to the wing-back chair and sat in it, facing Angela head on. Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, she rested her chin on her clasped hands, fixing Angela with an attentive gaze, “You don’t want me to touch you? Fine. You can finish yourself.”

Silence hung in the room for a few moments, and Angela licked her lips again. She looked around, feeling somewhat helpless, “You want me to . . .?”

“You have permission, if that’s what you’re asking for.” She settled back in the chair, “Begging me to come back? To _fuck_ you, Angela? After pushing me away? Mmmm, no. If you want to finish so bad, finish.”

They held one another’s gaze as Angela’s mind spun, but she was so close, and with Moira watching her . . . She’s not sure if she nodded, and she’s not sure when she moved, but she found herself moved. She leaned back, propped up with one elbow behind her, knees bent and her legs spread for Moira to view, and she found her fingers were already working, and yes, she was still so close, _so close._

She kept her eyes fixed on Moira, all the more intoxicating as she broke her own gaze to watch Angela’s hand instead. Already driven so close by Moira, Angela had little work to do. She was already soaking, and she quickly found her own favorite rhythm. She considered, briefly, drawing this out, teasing Moira, putting on a show, but she had had enough of teasing for one night, and instead was frantic. She whimpered and panted, gasping Moira’s name quietly as she watched Moira’s chest rise and fall, watched her eyes as Moira watched her fucking herself for her. God she had missed this. With one final, harsh press against her clit she gave in to the pulsing, throbbing need, forced over the edge by the sight of Moira licking her lips.

* * *

 

Moira sighed as she stroked Angela’s hair, the younger woman’s head resting against her bare chest as they lay together on top of the duvet which would need a good washing very soon. Her chest and fell steadily, and she could hear and feel Angela consciously trying to mirror the pace of her breaths, just as she used to afterward.

“Do you need something to drink?” Moira asked quietly, “Or eat?”

Angela shook her head against her chest. Moira craned her neck to be sure the glass of water and the candy she’d brought up earlier in the evening was still on the side of the bed for when Angela was ready, which experience told her would be somewhat soon. If nothing had changed, Angela was simple to care for. Warmth. Soft bodily contact. Slow, steady breathing. She would listen to Moira’s breath and try to match it, her ear placed over Moira’s heart. Then she would pull away, and she would sit quietly and drink and eat. Moira had needed to visit seven specialty stores to find one that carried läderach, but she’d had the time, and as she felt Angela’s soft breath across her chest, felt Angela’s soft cheek pressed close above her heart, she was glad that she had.

 _And then she will leave,_ Moira reminded herself, and if one’s internal monologue could have an inner voice it would be one of self-derision. She cringed, knowing it was true. This was sex, this was scenes, this was play. Angela had come to her at night, to her bedroom, to sate a physical need, nothing more, and she forced herself to remember this fact, no matter how much she might wish . . .

 


	4. Wash it All Away

Angela’s arms had begun to tremble, they felt weak. She’d made the mistake of locking her elbows and she was paying for it. She wasn’t sure how long she would be able to stay up. How long had she been down here? Moira had already finished paging through the most recent _Nature;_ when she’d gotten up afterward Angela had breathed a sigh of relief that it was over. But Moira had simply said coolly, “Stay put,” and disappeared. Angela had obeyed, listening to Moira’s steps creaking on the stair. When she heard the back door open she was unsure just how long she would stay, but it wasn’t long until she heard Moira in the den-made-laboratory again, then the stairs. Moira had returned with _Science,_ and out of the corner of her eye Angela saw her shoes were wet _._

She’d lazily paged through about half of the journal by now, and a few dirty drops of water had run across Angela’s back to drip off her side.

Angela had been fine until then, until Moira sat back down into her wingback chair. It was with an exaggerated stretch of her long legs and an indulgent sigh that she had returned her feet to Angela’s back. The heels of her brogues had dug into Angela’s bare skin and the returning weight of Moira’s legs, crossed at the ankles where they rested at the small of Angela’s back, had brought home just how weak Angela was growing.

The rug under her was comfortable enough at least. It hadn’t been here when Angela first had walked into Moira’s bedroom; Moira must have bought it recently. It was plush, and the deep brown fibers tickled the back of her hand where they curled around her splayed fingers, brushed against her bare toes.

Moira turned a page, sniffing loudly. Her tone was haughty and bored, “Do you know anything about Balb/cByJ?”

Angela closed her eyes, wracking her brain. Did she? She might, but right now it was a scramble of letters, familiar-sounding, but nothing came to mind. Even if she did know, she couldn’t recall, not like this, bare and trembling on her hands and knees, with Moira’s heavy feet weighing down her back.

“N-no,” she forced herself to say aloud. She shouldn’t mumble. Moira hated it when she mumbled.

“Mmmm,” Moira scoffed with contempt, “Neither do these authors. Is this what _Science_ publishes now? _Inane_. Children could do better.” Moira sniffed again, and the sound of the page turning was loud in the silent room.

Angela didn’t say anything, and she held back a whimper as Moira shifted her weight to scrape the sole of her shoe against Angela’s side. Angela didn’t need to look to know Moira had deposited a thick chunk of mud on the side of her clean, pale skin, trailing down over the side of her ribs.

The trembling was becoming too much, and she shifted her weight from one shoulder to the other, slowly, carefully, so Moira wouldn’t notice.

But she did. Angela yelped, as much from surprise as pain, as the heel of Moira’s brogue struck the soft flesh between her ribs and her hip. There would be no lasting damage, but tomorrow the bruise would remind her of her failure.

“Hold still,” Moira hissed as Angela struggled to not fall onto her side from the impact. She chanced to look up, certain to look admonished in case Moira saw her do so. She did; with a look of disdain Moira regarded Angela, her mismatched eyes glaring coolly down her nose at Angela where she struggled at her feet. She said nothing more, watching as Angela whimpered and regained her position.

She didn’t return her feet to Angela’s back right away, swinging her left leg wide. Angela knew what was coming before it happened, but she still jerked involuntarily when Moira teased at the flared base of the dildo with the toe of her shoe. She pressed gingerly, moving her toe around the bit of the toy not buried deep inside of Angela. Trying to keep from falling to the side Angela had relaxed some, letting it slip out a bit. Moira saw quickly to the problem, pressing firmly with the side of her shoe to push the toy back in. Angela stifled a quiet groan, biting her lip, and Moira hummed in that maddeningly superior way she had. Approval, not of Angela’s performance, but of her own.

When she returned her feet to Angela’s back she did so with a scowl, “You’re covered in mud.”

“S-sorry,” Angela said as clear as she could.

Ostensibly avoiding the water and mud, apparently tracked in from Moira’s trip to her back garden, Moira favored Angela’s upper back this time, and it stressed Angela’s arms all the more.

“Moira, I can’t,” she whimpered, “Please let me up?” She hoped she sounded as deferential as she felt.

Moira heaved a heavy sigh, exuding disappointment. Angela was relieved to feel the pressure on her back lift, though Moira didn’t stand or give her permission to do so herself.

With another exaggerated swing of her legs, the toe of Moira’s brogue was looped under Angela’s chin, pressing against her cheek and pulling her face to the side to look to Moira. The detailed perforations on the toe of the shoe were rough against Angela’s face, and she smelled worn leather mixed with the scent of wet earth still caked on Moira’s shoe. The memory was clear as day, Moira’s soft leather riding boots, brown and reaching to her knees. Hands and knees, bared before Moira, and the smell of leather and wet earth, so clear after all these years. Angela felt herself clench around the toy, but she tried not to show it as she looked to Moira.

It was difficult to do, turned to the side on her hands and knees. Despite slouching in her chair, Moira still seemed miles above her, but Angela did her best to look Moira in the eye, as Moira seemed to want.

Moira looked back. She looked bored, and her tone matched, “You can’t _what_?”

“I can’t stay down here like this,” Angela sniffled.

Silence as Moira continued to look down her nose, her face stoic, frowning slightly. There was no change in her expression, her demeanor, to herald her actions, but Angela winced as she felt Moira’s toes scrape across her neck. Moira placed the toe of her mud-caked brogue against Angela’s chin, holding it there for a moment. Angela didn’t move, and she continued to fight the urge to recoil as Moira scraped her shoe along the side of Angela’s face, depositing a thick, gritty layer of mud from Angela’s chin to her temple and through her blonde hair.

“Mmmmm.” Moira finally hummed quietly as she withdrew her feet, both shoes now wiped clean across Angela’s perfect, pale skin.

That wasn’t permission. Angela stayed put.

“Get up. Let me look at you.”

Angela rose to her feet, bits of mud flaking off her side as she did so. Her arms felt like jelly, but her legs were fine. Her caution was due entirely to the dildo still buried deep inside her; it wasn’t shaped like a plug, it could slip out if she wasn’t cautious. She clenched as well as she could as she turned to face Moira. Holding her legs together helped, and she stood as straight as she could with her arms at her sides. It felt strange to lift her chin, to stare straight ahead as though she didn’t have a thick layer of mud all along the side of her face, but she wasn’t about to wipe it off. God only knew what Moira would do. She clenched a bit tighter around the toy, though she didn’t try to.

Moira was watching her. _Science_ was in her right hand, resting in her lap over her now-crossed knees. She rested her chin in her left hand, observing Angela with a look of absolute boredom. Her eyes trailed slowly up and down Angela’s body, and when she licked her lips Angela didn’t try to hide the shudder it sent through her.

“You’re filthy,” accused Moira, apparently disgusted by the sight of Angela.

“I- I know.” Angela said clearly, “I’m sorry.”

Moira sighed, tossing the publication onto the bed behind Angela as she stood. She let her hand drop between them, and Angela felt Moira’s long fingers brush against the wet golden curls as they searched out the large, flared base of the toy. Moira delicately maneuvered it for a moment, wiggling it inside of Angela, and Angela moaned as she shut her eyes. Her moan turned into a yelp of surprise as Moira unceremoniously yanked the entire toy out of her in one movement, and as Angela lost her balance, falling forward, Moira side-stepped her. Angela fell against the chair Moira had been occupying, and Moira simply _tsked_ as she stepped beside her.

“There’s nothing to be done for it now.” She reached down to take a fistful of Angela’s hair, tugging gently to urge Angela back to her feet, “Go wash.” Continuing to use her hand to guide Angela, she pushed her lightly toward the door.

Angela just whimpered and nodded, walking unsteadily into the hall. As she reached for the bathroom knob Moira said sternly from the doorway, “ _Not there._ ”

Angela blinked at the knob, then back to Moira, uncertain.

Moira made no move to follow her, standing fully in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. The room behind her was lit with warm light, the hallway dark, and Moira’s silhouette fell across the length of the floorboards.

“Outside.”

“ _W-what_?” Angela breathed.

“You heard me,” Moira stepped forward, closing the distance in one long stride. Her fingers had a fist of Angela’s blonde, muddy hair again, and she tugged and pushed Angela toward the stairs, “Girls who play in the mud wash up outside with the hose.”

Angela shuddered and resisted, pushing back against Moira as they reached the top of the stairs, but Moira simply tugged harder on her hair, earning a small squeak. “Now be good and go into the garden, once you’re clean you can come back in the house,” Moira said in a tone that was both stern and sweet. Insistently _patronizing_. With a small shove, more of a nudge to avoid Angela falling, Moira pushed Angela toward the stairs.

Angela shivered. It was dark in the world outside, and she’d seen from the window above that Moira’s back garden was completely fenced in, no one standing at any window but Moira’s would be able to see into it.

Then she was down the stairs, fighting the urge to brush the caked mud off her face, her side. When she pulled the back door open the cool air sent gooseflesh across her bare skin, called to attention the wetness between her legs, and she wished she still had the dildo to service the ache she felt.

The garden was bright with moonlight, and small. There were only two stone steps down from the house and she was on a small patio. There was an herb garden, a tall stone workbench, a shed, and lots of greenery. Angela’s gaze caught deep shoeprints in the wet earth to the side of the steps and she shivered again. Instinctively she looked up toward the house, and when she saw a dim outline watching her from the upstairs window she lowered her head again, quickly searching out the hose.

It was coiled against the side of the house and the tap squeaked when she turned the knob. The water was freezing and she gasped as it first hit her, full on in the face. She presumed Moira was still watching. She presumed Moira would like to see that. She sputtered and choked, more from the cold than the water itself, as she aimed it across her face, wetting her hair and washing away the dirt.

She prayed she was right, that no one in the neighboring houses could see her, naked and freezing, dripping wet in more than one way. Eager to escape the freezing cascade, she moved quickly, but she was certain to be thorough in case Moira was still watching. She hoped she was. She let the water run over her shoulders and down her back, snaking the hose around to be sure she washed all the dirty water from the small of her back, over her ass, around her sides where Moira had scraped her boots. She didn’t hear the back door creak open and closed again, and it wasn’t until she moved to aim the hose between her legs, eager for the pressure if not the cold, that she heard Moira’s voice.

 _“That’s enough.”_ Moira’s voice was insistent, and Angela cursed that she wasn’t able to feel at least a bit of relief for the bit of warmth she had left in her.

Angela had her back to the door, facing the spigot, and twisted it off with a loud squeak. She could hear Moira coming down the slick steps as the hose dribbled out the last of its water, and Angela wondered if Moira wouldn’t step back into the mud, start them anew.

But her shoes clicked across the cobblestones and she was behind Angela quickly. There was silence, and Angela shivered in the freezing night, dripping wet.

“Knees, on the bench.” Moira said sharply, and Angela looked quickly to understand. The workbench was a large stone bench a bit below waist level. She said nothing, simply nodded and obeyed. If Moira wanted her to look at her she’d have indicated it, and Angela obeyed the silent commands as well as the spoken, side-stepping rather than turning in order to stand at the bench. Gingerly she raised one knee, then the other, until she was kneeling on the bench. It was not wide enough to return to her hands and knees, and she splayed her hands on the garden wall ahead of her, watching water drip down the moonlit stone.

Moira was behind her then, and Angela took a deep breath. Moira’s height had always been a sort of obstacle, but Moira had an uncanny ability to figure out just where to put her that it was no issue at all.

Moira’s hands were warm when they met Angela’s cold, clammy hips. She stroked her hands up Angela’s ribs, looping them around her body to knead roughly at Angela’s breasts, earning an indulgent moan. When she pushed herself forward Angela felt the metal buckles and leather straps against her buttocks before she felt the toy, the same she’d had in her not long ago, pushing lightly through her folds from behind. She gasped as it rubbed lightly against her clit, but she fought the urge to rub herself along it. God only knows what Moira would do if she tried.

“All cleaned up?” Moira’s voice was sultry, taunting Angela as she pressed her lips to her ear and moved her hips, rubbing the toy against Angela roughly.

“Uh-huh,” Angela paired her answer with a grunt, steeling herself to withstand whatever teasing Moira was to visit upon her.

Moira’s lips disappeared and quickly Angela felt a sharp, jolting pain as Moira flicked the back of her ear roughly with her fingers, “I told you not to mumble.”

“Y-yes,” Angela winced out as the pain slowly subsided. She had laughed, years ago, the first time Moira had flicked her ear. It had seemed so silly at the time. But she became accustomed to it, and now while it sent a jolt of pain through her, it made her shudder as well, and she yearned for Moira to push inside her.

“Good,” Moira said, returning her hands to Angela’s breasts to pinch and pull roughly at Angela’s nipples, sending shocks from her hands down through Angela to where the toy was rubbing against her. Moira was thrusting roughly against Angela, not bothering to position the toy properly and relying on chance and Angela to guide the toy home.

Angela was all too eager to assist, and she tilted and canted her hips with each thrust until suddenly she fell forward with a loud groan, slamming the side of her face roughly against the wet stone wall as Moira’s thrust found its target and once again the dildo was buried completely inside of Angela’s aching cunt.

Moira heeded the clear signal that she’d found her way into Angela, and she hissed with approval. She wasted no time finding a savage pace, giving Angela the full length with every rough thrust. The stone was cold and wet on Angela’s face and knees and under her splayed fingers, and her knees ached, but Angela paid no mind. Her world was Moira’s fingers pulling and pinching at her nipples, the cock between her legs, the sounds of Moira’s ragged breathing, and the thought of Moira brutally fucking her in the garden.

There had been no rules set about permission, and if there were one implied Angela paid that no mind either. It was simply impossible, listening to Moira’s primal grunts mixing with her own gasps and groans, to stave off the inevitable for very long. She didn’t even try, and as she felt the tense pulling against Moira’s thrusts she let it wash over her, letting loose a loud whine into the stone against her cheek as she felt herself grip Moira tightly. Moira didn’t stop or slow, and Angela took every inch of every thrust as Moira reduced her to a trembling mess.

When Moira finally did slow and stop she was panting heavily, but when she pulled roughly out of Angela her voice was impossibly even. Annoyed. Admonishing. “Get inside before the neighbors see you like this.”

Moira stepped back to give her room, and Angela’s legs trembled as she stepped gingerly down off the bench. She bowed her head and hurried up the steps and into the house. Unsure what to do, she simply stood in the doorway, and soon Moira stepped in behind her. She was still wearing her shirt and pants, but they were undone and the dildo was sticking out of the fly, wet and shiny in the moonlight through the window.

Moira sniffed and rolled her shoulders when she saw Angela looking at her, but she made no mention of the fake cock jutting between them. Instead she reached to the side table where a fluffy towel rested, a towel that had not been there when Angela had walked into the garden. She handed it to Angela who took it quietly and laid it over her wet hair and shoulders.

Moira smiled then, grabbing a dangling corner of the towel to pat at Angela’s face, and Angela forced herself to remember everything that had gone wrong between them, forced herself to ignore that her heart was beating as fast now as it had been when Moira had been taking her in the yard.

Angela went upstairs first, Moira right behind her, and neither spoke as Angela toweled off and climbed onto the fluffy duvet. Moira had removed the harness and set it on the bedside table, but she didn’t lay with Angela, stepping toward the door instead.

“Where are you going?” Angela asked anxiously. Maybe to get water? Food?

Moira sniffed and looked toward the dark hall, then to the floorboards at her feet, “I’m just going to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a bit. Just rest. I’ll be back.”

She didn’t move, toward or away from Angela, and Angela’s heart began to pound.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Angela offered quietly.

Silence hung in the air between them, and Angela held her breath. Moira wouldn’t say yes. She never would, not ever. No meant no, of course, but if she didn’t say anything . . . that was the closest to yes she had ever given Angela, and they both knew it was the closest she could manage.

Moira looked only briefly at Angela, uncertain, and turned into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Angela’s heart was still pounding. A yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I know what this might _seem_ like, I'm going to head everyone off at the pass here and say that, for better or for worse depending on your preference, there will be no scat or watersports in this story. Sorry or you're welcome, whichever you feel is appropriate.


End file.
